Poetry That Takes a Front Seat

place of rest by DB Cox

here is where we cry the night’s soulless cold
here is the solitary light moving across the sky
from one dark space to another
here is the wanderer confused by the journey
searching for his way home
here is the body too fragile for this world
-eyes that saw too much
-mind that ran too deep
-stilled heart that could not be filled

and here we are—
left to guess
about a split-second in time
only he could see

i choose to imagine a cloud of beautiful colors
rising in the darkness—
orange fading to sapphire-blue
painting the heavens an impossible hue—
a burning red point
moving over a sharp silver line
that cuts between
meaningless human noise
and perfect solitude